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He was great at construction work. Not so great at the business side of things. Everyone in town still treated him like the local football star he used to be, and maybe he wanted to preserve that image somehow. Still feel that rush of being the guy everyone could depend on…if in a different way.
“Great. Looks like he has an opening on Tuesday at nine a.m.,” Carmen said. She disconnected the call and turned to him. “How’d it go at Mrs. Miller’s?” She stood to write next Tuesday’s job on the whiteboard behind the desk.
She’d sent him to pick up a check from the eighty-year-old widow for the work he’d done on her fence the week before. “Let’s just say her payment was delicious.” He’d eaten six of the chocolate zucchini muffins already that day.
Carmen wagged the dry-erase marker at him. “Stop letting them pay you with baked goods. Baked goods, homemade knit scarfs, signed author copies of their self-pubbed books, these things don’t pay bills.”
“I know, I know,” he said, running a hand through his hair and over his face. He reached for the coffeepot and poured the lukewarm liquid into his cup that was still sitting on the counter since that morning.
All the breakfast dishes were still sitting there, too. Marissa was supposed to have filled the dishwasher. He sighed. She didn’t do it to disobey him; she was just absentminded. No doubt she’d forgotten about her chore the moment he left the house.
Carmen took his mug from him and put it in the microwave. She struggled with the door that was refusing to shut lately and hit the Reheat button.
“Mrs. Miller was good for gossip, though,” he said, knowing she’d appreciate that, at least. Small towns thrived on their gossip for excitement, and Blue Moon Bay was no exception.
Sure enough, his aunt raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“Turns out, Sarah Lewis inherited Dove’s Nest.”
Carmen looked confused. “Good heavens, what was Dove thinking? What on earth could that girl do with it?”
“Says she’s thinking of selling it in its current state.”
“That’s a horrible idea. Whoever buys it will just tear it down.” His aunt retrieved the cup and handed it to him.
“That’s what I said.” He took a sip of the bitter liquid and grimaced.
Carmen nodded slowly. “Do you think you can talk her into renovating?”
Obviously, she was thinking about the possibility of a decent project and payday for his company, as well as preserving the inn that used to mean a lot to the community and Blue Moon Bay’s tourism.
“I’m going to try,” he said, kissing her forehead. Though he wasn’t sure how successful he’d be. Sarah hadn’t exactly been thrilled to see him. She’d actually seemed a little standoffish, and the way she’d practically batted his hands away from her body once she was on safe ground had warned him not to go in for a “long time, no see” hug from his former tutor and friend.
But maybe it was the circumstances that had her on edge.
“Where’s Marissa?”
Carmen raised an eyebrow above her oversize glasses—the same pair she’d worn since Wes was a kid, only now they were suddenly stylish again. “Where do you think?”
Her bedroom. Sitting in front of her computer screen. “Has she been outside at all today?”
“Only when she thought the mail carrier was delivering her new chemistry kit.”
Wes left the kitchen and headed down the hall to his daughter’s bedroom. On the door was herDo Not Enter—Science Experiments in Progresssign.
He knocked anyway. “Marissa.”
“Come in!”
He entered the messy room and forced a calming breath. The dishwasher, the bedroom…she was ignoring every task on her summer daily chore list.
“Hey, Dad,” she said quickly before turning her attention back to the computer screen where she was typing a bunch of code he would never know how to read.
He opened the closed window blinds, and sunlight cast across the screen. She squinted and held up a hand as though he had blinded her. “Ah, my eyeballs!”
“It’s called sunlight, and let me introduce you to fresh air,” he said, opening the window. A faint smell lingered, and he’d bet there was food or a wet swimsuit left in a backpack somewhere.
She shot him a look only a nine-year-old going on forty could deliver. “The UV rating today is an eight. Do you know how dangerous that is?”
